The Switch
by rent-a-bird
Summary: Written as a self-containing "episode" of the Boosh, post-Zooniverse. Howard and Vince fall into some bad juju and switch bodies-taking them on a series of wacky adventures involving evil toys and jazz emergencies.
1. Howard and Vince Take the Day Off

**The Switch**

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_**Chapter One: Howard and Vince Take the Day Off**_

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It was summertime, and a lazy Thursday at the Nabootique. Outdoors it was just hot and muggy enough for passers-by to seek solace in the comfort of the air-conditioned shops, to browse and enjoy the respite from the sticky outside air and the gentle hum of insects. Luckily for Vince Noir, the only shopkeeper attending the Nabootique at the moment, most of the residents of Dalston were already aware that the particular shop he was minding didn't have air conditioning. Or they didn't know, but wouldn't have stopped by anyway.

Vince was lounging on a chair with a magazine as a tiny metal fan positioned by his head oscillated haltingly over his angular features, looking more like a beautiful porcelain mannequin than an employee. When the bell above the door jingled in proclamation, he didn't even look up from his issue of Dazed & Confused.

"Cheers, Naboo," he greeted as the petite shaman and his gorilla familiar shuffled into the shop. He closed his magazine and gave them a once over, raising his eyebrows approvingly. "Killer shades."

"Thanks," Bollo acknowledged.

"Where've you two been all morning?"

"We're still bushed from Kirk's party last night," Naboo announced in his signature deadpan behind a large pair of black sunglasses. "Some really messed up shit went down. I think I snorted a line of fish food off one of Tony Harrison's tentacles."

Bollo, sporting a matching pair of glasses, shook his head mournfully. "Never seen the Head Shaman cry before," he grunted, "Like staring into a black, empty abyss… that was also crying."

Vince grinned and nodded his appreciation. "Nice."

"Hey, have either of you seen Howard today? I'm really bored," he called up to Naboo as the pair began to ascend the staircase.

"I think he's at the community garden a few blocks down," the shaman noted, stooping to peer over the railing at Vince.

"Community garden?" Vince all but scoffed, incredulous. "Did he get some sort of court order?"

Naboo just shrugged, as if to say, 'You know Howard.'

Vince groaned in disappointment, getting up to his feet. "I'm gonna go pop down there for a bit, then."

"Wait just a minute," Naboo declared. "You've got to stay and mind the shop."

"Naboo, no one wants to come in here. We haven't got air conditioning. Let's just close up for the day."

"It's only twelve-thirty," he retorted, unfazed.

"C'mon," Vince urged, offering the shaman his most adorable grin and wide blue puppy eyes. "You don't want to coop me up in here, Naboo. You gave Howard the day off and you don't even like him as much as me."

Naboo regarded Vince suspiciously. "How many customers have already come in today?"

"A hundred and fifty-two."

"Mm-hmm. And what did they buy?"

"Melon ballers."

Naboo's eyes narrowed as he regarded Vince, the younger man's smile a hopeful attempt at looking convincing. The shaman sighed. "All right, whatever," he assented, continuing his trek up the stairs.

"Cool," Vince smiled, grabbing an embroidered silver and white hat from the coat rack.

"Oh, and Vince?" Naboo interrupted, waiting until he had the raven haired young man's attention before continuing. "Some dark and spooky men are coming over later to bring me a tear-stained package in a padlocked box. You and Howard are not to open it."

Naboo looked over his sunglasses at Vince, and a darkness like none other slowly roiled across his features like storm clouds consuming a bright sky. A section of violins quivered loudly in dramatic foreshadowing.

But Vince hadn't noticed.

"No problem, mate," he agreed cheerfully, completely breaking the tension. He placed the hat on his head and posed briefly in front of the mirror before exiting the shop with a spring in his step. "Catch you later."

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…

Meanwhile, at the community garden, one Howard Moon leaned back to wipe the sweat from his hair-plastered brow, leaving a streak of dirt in his wake. The rest of his hair was scraggly and moist with sweat in the sun, despite his sun-blocking safari-themed hat with the chinstrap strings tightened all the way. His yellow Hawaiian shirt was stained wet all down the back. In businesslike motions, he straightened his tweed gardening gloves, taking a short moment to catch his breath and examine the results of his hours of hard work. Before him stood one tiny seedling encased in a mound amid a wide square of barren dirt.

"_This_ is the community garden?"

Howard glanced back briefly when he heard the familiar voice and leaned back onto the balls of his feet.

"It might not look like much, but the community coming together to make this neighborhood a brighter place is just the kind of initiative and bravery this world is lacking, Vince," he lectured in his most serious voice. "The community board okayed my requisition for a personal plot only yesterday. I'm just here to do my part—no more, no less."

He shot Vince a pointed glance. "It would do you well to think of the community you live in for once… giving back, maybe, instead of always taking and wasting."

Vince raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he surveyed the land, leaning his weight on one hip. "Are you the only one helping out? It doesn't look very garden-y."

"Well, the borough only gave this land to the good people of this neighborhood just a few years back," Howard argued defensively. "The project itself is but a seedling—struggling for life, seeking light amidst the darkness. It's a beautiful thing, sir."

"A few years? I'm pretty sure it only takes, like, a few weeks for a plant to grow," Vince retorted, still unimpressed. "And this place is well terrifying—I mean, look at it!"

He gestured towards the small vacant lot. In contrast to the cheerfully sunny atmosphere of the rest of the block, the community garden was blackened in absolute night, complete with a full moon, the menacing bays of far-off wolves, and the fierce howl of the wind. The fallow, cracked earth produced only a few winding thistles and a crooked tree with branches like long claws and a trunk with the twisted effigy of a face contorted into a scream. Beneath the tree, several skeletal arms stuck up through the earth.

A lone, feathery-gray moth fluttered soundlessly beside the tree, and an enormous, shrieking owl swooped down to scoop it up in its razor-sharp beak—heartbeats later, the tree itself extended one gnarled branch and scooped the owl into the screaming-man knot in its trunk. A thick, sinister looking sap oozed from its twisted mouth, glistening in the moonlight. The tree let out a low, dark moan.

Vince recoiled, making an 'eesh' face at Howard. "I didn't know anything about a community garden—I always thought this area was called the Nightmare Square."

"That's enough, okay?" Howard rebuked in a low voice, focusing back on the lonely, wilting seedling in his personal plot. "What are you doing here, anyway? Who's minding the shop?"

"I'm visiting you, dummy," Vince smiled, sitting Indian-style on the sidewalk as Howard toiled over his plant. "It was boring at the shop, Naboo closed early today."

Howard frowned a little, irritated. "Just see to it that you don't distract me too much. I'm doing important work, here. One slip… one wrong move… and a tiny, precious life-flame is extinguished forever from the ever burning wick of the universe."

Vince rolled his eyes with a good-natured smile. Over the years he'd become very good at going along with Howard's illusions of grandeur. "Whatever," he acceded with a quiet bout of laughter.

A few comfortable moments passed, the only noises to break through the pleasant drone of summer insects being the muffled sound of Howard's digging.

"So, what's that weird knife thing you're using there?" Vince asked, breaking the silence.

Howard sighed a little, but wasn't surprised that his peace hadn't gone uninterrupted for more than a few moments. "This is a trowel," he explained with a forced sort of patience. "It's only the most important tool in the world of gardening. Much like a samurai's sword is forged to exactly fit the hand of the warrior who wields it, each true gardener's trowel is crafted painstakingly for each individual. In many gardening communities, a man without his trowel is considered naked and is flogged publicly in the streets."

Vince looked disbelieving, not for the first time today. "You sent away for that thing?"

Howard sighed again, his tone growing terser. "It's been personally fashioned for my individual grip. It's not so much a tool, but an extension of my arm. I doubt anyone else could wield this particular trowel."

"Let me see?" Vince inquired. Howard snorted.

"You can try, little man."

Vince went to take the instrument away from Howard, but the taller man jerked back as if shocked.

"C'mon, then, let's give it a go," Vince said impatiently, motioning for Howard to give him the trowel.

"Don't ever do that again. What's wrong with you?" Howard scolded, voice brimming with alarm.

"You said I could try it!"

"_Never_ touch another man's trowel, Vince."

Vince rolled his eyes and leaned back on the heels of his palms.

"Anyway, it all seems like a lot of work for some dinky little shrubs. You look like you're about to die."

Howard scoffed. "Gardening is a lifelong commitment, sir. You must forsake all mortal duties and become a sentinel of the earth. You must prove to Mother Gaia that you are worthy of her fruits."

"Hmm… maybe. I bet I could do it better, even without your stupid dirt sword." Vince shot back, his tone challenging. Howard only shook his head with a condescending chortle.

Intent on proving him wrong, Vince leaned forward, peering curiously at the soil in front of him. A glimmer of understanding sparked in his eyes like a slow burning green flame, and he brought out one hand to hover steadily over the ground. Knitting his brow in concentration, a tiny green stem burst through the soil and unfurled, glittering with same strange spirit reflected in Vince's eyes. As an unseen orchestra crescendoed an achingly sweet tune, several more seedlings began to sprout and grow, the larger ones now blooming with soft-petaled pink flowers.

"Stop that," Howard interrupted loudly, sounding cross. The music cut out abruptly, and most of the smaller seedlings withered and curled from their sudden lack of attention. Vince grinned again, pleased with himself.

Howard growled in frustration, finally lobbing his trowel to the ground.

"You're breaking my concentration."

"I haven't done anything."

"You're breaking it—you're tainting my deep, unflappable bond with the earth."

"Oh, get off it," Vince exclaimed. He motioned to the trowel mockingly. "You'd better pick that up, you'll be flogged in the streets."

Howard shot Vince a murderous look. Vince tried to smother a laugh.

"I'm only trying to look out for your safety."

"Yeah, well… thanks a lot," Howard grumbled. He paused, taking in a deep lungful of summer air and exhaling it in a short huff. "Do you want to get some ice cream?"

"How about instead, you buy me a new headband?" Vince suggested, raising his eyebrows.

"How about I don't buy you a headband, and we go catch some fresh funk dropping at the jazz hut, eh? Make a _real _night of it?"

The grin that spread across Howard's face and lit up his eyes was reminiscent of a rapist at an unattended schoolyard.

"_Two_ ice creams, and you buy me a whole new outfit," Vince declared stonily.

Howard considered this and sighed, defeated. "Deal."

The pair got to their feet and dusted off, each differing amounts of pleased by the interaction that had taken place. In the community garden, a large, twitchy centipede inspected Howard's freshly-planted seedling with its feelers. Satisfied with its assessment, it reared its black head to reveal a pair of enormous, glistening mandibles. With a single nibble, the entire seedling turned black and crumbled into ash—its powdery remains soon blew into the wind, and the centipede scuttled away.

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_**Reviews are beloved, and might result in faster updates. In the storytelling stylings of the juicy dangler, here are some things that will be found in the next installment of The Switch:**_

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_- Vince surprises Howard with a good deed__  
- Vince and Howard are the victims of magical circumstance__  
- Naboo gives Vince and Howard the run-around—but also dire news  
- Flirty vicars! _

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_**Stay tuned!**_


	2. Howard and Vince Get Into Trouble

**The Switch**

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_**Chapter Two: Howard and Vince Get Into Trouble**_

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"I'm just saying—it gets right down to it, a nitty gritty life-is-on-the-line type situation—an ostrich would beat him in a fair match, every time."

"An ostrich hasn't got any thumbs, has he? How would he hold the stick?"

"'E's got heart, though, you can't deny that."

"How about, um… Brian Jones?"

Vince considered. "Is the field wet or dry?"

"What does it matter?"

"Brian Jones is like a racehorse. Runs best in mud."

It was early evening, though the summer sun showed little sign of setting as Vince and Howard re-entered the Nabootique with a jingle of the door.

"Whoa there. What's that?" Howard exclaimed.

On the counter of the shop was a large wooden trunk, rotten in places with water damage and encircled with a heavy chain and padlock. Its sides were carved with black runes, and as the two men stared at it, a section of violins played a suspenseful note in vibrato.

"Oh, Naboo said something about that earlier, I think," Vince noted, frowning in concentration. He scratched the back of his head with the hand not holding a shopping bag. "Something about… opening it."

"Opening it?" Howard echoed. Another, more dramatic note sang through the air.

"That can't be right," he continued, completely breaking the tension.

"Yeah, it looks dangerous," Vince quickly agreed.

"Not a good idea."

The pair stood quietly for a bit, Howard rocking back on his heels with his hands in his pockets and Vince kicking at a scuff mark on the floor with one white cowboy boot.

"Shall I put a kettle on?" Howard finally asked, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"That'd be great, thanks."

Howard left, leaving Vince alone on the bottom floor of the shop. The style maven wandered idly around the store front, glancing at a knick knack here, examining a trinket there, until he caught his reflection in the full length mirror in the corner. Straightening, he gently arranged a few strands of his glossy black hair, nodding his approval at the image smiling back at him. Reaching into his shopping bag, he procured an electric blue feather boa and tossed it across his neck, turning his head this way and that in admiration. After a moment, though, he frowned, noticing a small spot on the surface of the glass.

In a few strides, he was standing at the mirror, face to face with the offending mark. He rubbed at it with his thumb, to no avail.

"Howard, have we got any glass cleaner?" he called.

"Glass cleaner?"

"Yeah."

"Under the counter, maybe?"

Vince made his way to the counter of the shop, crouching down to examine the various supplies kept there. He grabbed at a squirt bottle, but an experimental shake proved it to be empty. Annoyed, he rummaged around, finding nothing to suit his needs.

"It's not down here!" he yelled back up to Howard.

Howard didn't answer. However, upon pushing back a few rolls of paper towels, he came upon a large glass bottle full of a jewel-green liquid.

"Never mind!" he called with an excited glimmer in his eyes, grabbing the alembic-shaped bottle and twisting it in the light. He unstopped the cork and poured a little of the green liquid onto a rag, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell.

His prize retrieved, he strode back to the mirror with the wet rag in one hand and the bottle in the other, intent on destroying the smudge that dared to mar his perfect image.

"What are you doing?" Howard asked, eyeing Vince strangely from the stop of the stairs.

"The mirror's got a smudge on it," Vince replied distractedly, having a hard time cleaning the surface with one hand. "Can you help me out a bit?"

Setting two mugs of tea down on the counter, Howard came over to inspect his friend's job.

"I'm not sure that's the right cleaner."

"Probably not, but it gives the glass a nice sparkly shine, doesn't it? Genius. Hold the back of it for me for just a sec."

Howard, mostly out of shock that Vince seemed to actually be tidying up for once, held the back of the mirror still. He poked his head around to look at the shorter man.

"Just where did you get that, exactly?"

"Under the counter, like you said."

"It looks like it might be Naboo's."

Vince scoffed dismissively. "As if Naboo's going to miss a little mirror-sparkle potion."

The surface of the mirror was now sparkly indeed—iridescent swirls glimmered and swam along the mirror's surface like the film on a soap bubble. Vince grinned widely at his reflection, now glittering and bright.

"Howard, you've gotta come check this out. It looks as if I'm in one of those rosy love scene fantasies, beckoning a Duchess to run away with me with my billowy tunic."

Vince leaned forward to inspect his reflection more closely, forgetting that his hand with the rag in it was still pressed against the mirror. Violently, it swung back along its axis. Losing his footing, Howard fell backwards with a shout as Vince tumbled forwards, falling into the surface of the mirror with the sound of a glittering flourish.

As it continued to swing, Howard too was consumed into the mirror as its back crashed down on his head with another ringing sound. Room empty, the mirror spun several times along its frame, resonating with a shimmery-sounding hum. Suddenly, both men were thrown from the mirror and landed with a simultaneous 'oof'.

"Nice going, Duke Love-Dream," Howard remarked sarcastically, rubbing at his tailbone. It was then that he noticed a few things were not quite right.

He was holding the green bottle, for one, and there were several out of focus black shapes sitting above his brow. He frowned, swiping at them with his hand. His hand—he stared down at it, dumbfounded. It seemed smaller, somehow. And was that the sleeve of a blue bolero jacket?

Vince groaned, one hand instinctually darting up to feel his hair. It connected with his head in a strange, stilted motion, like when you expect one extra stair while descending a staircase in the dark. Alarmed, he felt at his head with both hands, the only padding against his skull being a thin, soft covering that felt more like down than thick, textured strands.

"H-howard?"

Howard was frantically grabbing at the boa around his neck, feeling the narrowness of his shoulders, the length of his face. In a panic, he spun around to look at Vince, only to have his gaze met by his own small brown eyes, bulging in horror, staring back at him. Hands that should have belonged to him clutched handfuls of hair from his own head.

The two whirled back to face the mirror they had both just been thrown from. Vince grasped at his head, his nose, his collar as he stared into the glassy surface—but it was Howard's reflection which mirrored his own movements. Based on the horrified expression of Vince's reflection, Howard was coming to a similar realization. They faced each other again, each finding their own face staring back at them. It took another beat for the two to truly grasp their current situation.

Outside the Nabootique, several birds preened themselves contentedly on the rooftop of the building across the street. Suddenly, two ear-splitting screams pierced through the calm, startling the birds into flight—the shout's echo reverberated through the entire street.

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"This isn't working out, Howard," a distinctly Vince-sounding voice announced fretfully as the mustachioed Northerner hurried down the staircase.

"No, it's not working out, glad you could bring that gem of insight to the table." 'Vince' retorted sarcastically. His lithe body was slumped over the counter behind which he sat, poring over shaman books and scrolls that surrounded the mysterious box from earlier. His jet black hair sported several flyaways and a single curled lock was plastered unattractively to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat.

Vince, in contrast, had taken the time to meticulously shape Howard's "brown smoke" hair to look halfway stylish. The taller man's skin was brighter and more youthful looking, either due to makeup or a thorough moisturizing routine, and his eyes even looked wider thanks to a very subtle application of… something.

"This is absolutely the ONLY look I can pull off with this—" he gestured in frustration to the length of Howard's body. "At first I thought it would be fun, 'Ooh, let's give Howard a makeover, get 'im some highlights, show 'im my chops, prove I'm up for the challenge.' But this is _hard_. My old body's like a clothes hanger—you can put anything on it. Yeah, the hair's a bit of work sometimes, but I don't think I can keep up with this forever, Howard, I really can't."

Howard surveyed what Vince had put his body in. Staring back at him with his hand on his hip in indignation was Howard Moon, wearing silver ankle boots with shiny black leggings and a tight black jumper beneath a loose fitting silver fishnet wrap that was studded with just a few red rhinestones along one shoulder. His neck was adorned with a white priest's collar and several layers of silver necklaces, the longest of which displayed a gothic looking cross. 'Vince' apprehended him with repulsion—he wouldn't have batted an eye if Vince were wearing it on his own body, but seeing something so utterly unpractical on his own form left a bad taste in his—or Vince's—mouth.

"What_ is_ this look, exactly?" he managed to ask.

"It's 'The Flirty Vicar,'" 'Howard' explained, lazily striking a few poses. "You're too tall for Le Boulanger and Steampunk Beekeeper was just _not_ jiving well with your chin."

'Vince' shot 'Howard' an incredulous look. "I ask you to go upstairs and look for some more clues on how to change us back, and you're up there playing dress up for four hours and poking around all my shameful bits in front of a mirror?"

"There are a lot of them," 'Howard' admitted, making an awkward face.

"Unbelievable," 'Vince' muttered, his face contorted in a Howard-esque anger that had never before graced its features.

"Hey now," 'Howard' warned anxiously. "Watch your attitude, yeah? Look at you, all hunched over and laden with hatred like an icy winter branch. You're going to ruin my body, you keep that up!"

"Is that so?" 'Vince' deadpanned, already bored by the barrage of criticism he knew would soon come at him.

"It is so!" "Howard" persisted fervently, rounding the counter to face his companion. "Every second your bitter, poisoned soul lingers in that pristine vessel is like fifty years of life in a coal-mining town with black lung and a leathery wife. It's like taking a sweet summer cucumber and immersing it in salty, vinegary snake venom."

"Vinegar venom, hm?"

"Yeah! Vinegary, Howard venom! It's awful!"

"And I suppose the way you're leaning against that counter on your elbows like a schoolgirl at a sweet shop is doing wonders for preserving my bold, dauntless image, that I've spent years to establish?" 'Vince' retorted condescendingly, straightening if only in an attempt to look down on the now-taller man.

'Howard' chose to ignore this comment.

"I mean it. Try not to be as cross til we get this sorted out?"

Vince squinted Howard's eyes a bit and leaned forward as he noticed something, eyes wide and focused on his own body's forehead.

"Is that a blackhead?" he breathed in horror, reaching out to sweep a bit of black fringe out of the way.

"Get off me," 'Vince' snapped, flailing his arm in annoyance. "I'm not thirteen—I don't get blackheads. And if I did, it would be because of all the stress I'm faced with on a daily basis—sorting out your messes, running the shop by myself. I'm the one who gets things _done_ around here, so excuse me if I can't just flit about, carefree as I please, with my electro-foolery and my tiny, sexual boots."

Vince's cheeky, pleased-with-himself grin translated surprisingly well on Howard's features. "They are pretty brilliant," he agreed, tiny eyes laughing. "I'm surprised your feet fit into them."

Howard rolled Vince's blue eyes dismissively, returning his attentions to Naboo's scrolls. "Yes, Vince, very impressive."

"I think I might have broken one of your toes getting them on, actually," 'Howard' admitted in a conspiratorially hushed tone, still grinning.

"Look," 'Vince' interrupted loudly, clearly annoyed. "Perhaps instead of smearing the Howard Moon name and breaking all my bones, you could maybe take a look at some of these scrolls and old shaman books, hmm? Be useful for once?"

'Howard' once again chose to ignore this request, electing instead to flounce down into a chair and grab a magazine to read.

"Not on my watch, you don't," 'Vince' glared as the man in his body slouched against the chair beneath an issue of NME. "Not while there are ladies about."

"What ladies?" 'Howard' groaned, exasperated. Howard's long legs fumbled as Vince tried to cross them in one smooth motion. What would have been a graceful position for Vince only looked awkward and painful in Howard's body. He glowered over the magazine at his new, bulkier appendages.

"The ladies lookin' for their Howard Moon fix, that's who," 'Vince' specified, not without pride. "The ladies jonesin' for some trombonesin', if you catch my drift. They'll be expecting a sexual dynamo, yes sir, oozing sophistication and charm—not some languid man-child draped over a sofa reading_ that_ brain rot."

"What d'yeh rather me read, then, Loafers Quarterly? The Scalp Dryness Weekly Newsletter?"

"You'll find I don't take kindly to sass, Vince, especially not from my own mouth," 'Vince' warned. "Just do as you're bid, please and thank you."

'Howard' rolled his eyes as disdainfully as any teenager might and grabbed a copy of Global Explorer. He pointedly slipped the NME inside, shooting 'Vince' an annoyed look and gesturing with his hands as if to say, "Satisfied?"

Howard's glare looked extremely unbecoming on Vince's face, and the real Vince frowned uneasily.

"Please try not to mess up my face," 'Howard' pleaded. "It's in mint condition. I mean it."

" 'Mint condition'," 'Vince muttered scornfully.

"It even comes packaged with a piece of bubble gum," 'Howard' quipped, winking.

The shop's bell jangled.

"Hey, Vince," Naboo greeted nonchalantly as he entered with Bollo, addressing Howard's body.

"Wait, how'd you know that was Vince?" 'Vince' asked, flabbergasted. The diminutive shaman took off his cloak and placed it on the coat rack.

"Your auras are all wonky," he explained. "That and I have terrible eyesight in my periphery."

"Flirty Vicar?" Bollo inquired of the tall man lounging in the chair. Howard's face lit up, eyes both anxious and hopeful.

"Yeah, what do we think?"

"Tasteful," the gorilla grunted respectfully.

"Do you think you could lend us a hand, Naboo?" 'Vince' interrupted, ignoring the exchange between Bollo and the real Vince.

The shaman sighed in resignation. "What did you do, exactly?"

"Vince was polishing the mirror with some kind of green potion that he found under the counter," 'Vince' explained. "And we both sort of… fell through it."

"Well, there's your problem," Naboo noted darkly. "You didn't touch my box, though, did you?"

"No."

The shaman gave 'Vince' a short nod. "Even so. You two've really done it this time. Switching bodies is bad hoodoo. It's not in the natural order of things. Throws a stick in the bicycle spokes of fate."

"How do you mean?" 'Vince asked nervously, rounding the counter.

"Well, just take a look."

From some corner of the shop, Naboo procured a crystal seeing-ball and placed it on a shimmery cloth. Both Vince and Howard peered over the shaman's shoulders.

"This was your future as of a few days ago."

Inside the seeing-ball, an image of Howard sitting outside the Nabootique in a rocking chair swirled into shape. An old man, his hair was even more scraggly than present day, with added unkempt eyebrow and ear hair adorning his wrinkled face. He wore a bow tie under his jacket and a ratty blanket laid across his lap.

"Nice rocking chair." 'Howard' sniggered. 'Vince' shot him a glare.

Suddenly, the image started to go foggy, with the figure of Howard fading in and out of focus erratically. Naboo waved one hand over the ball, and the picture faded away.

"It's not stable to live in someone else's form. This reality is disappearing in and out of existence. In a few days, you might not have a future at all."

"My god," 'Vince' breathed, horrified.

"What can we do, Naboo?" exclaimed 'Howard'.

"You must go on a journey," Naboo intoned solemnly. "My expertise on the matter ends here. To learn the cure, you must seek out Marigold the Pelvis Smasher, in his powdered bone bungalow."

Vince and Howard exchanged an apprehensive look, and the three sat in silence for several awkward, uncomfortable moments. 'Vince' finally cleared his throat.

"Um… just as a point of interest… you say this Marigold character—"

"—The Pelvis Smasher," Naboo added calmly.

"—Right. The Pelvis Smasher. Now he's… the only gent who can help us out?"

Naboo paused. "Actually, I think I've got him confused with someone else."

'Vince' and 'Howard' gave the small shaman twin looks that were equal parts incredulous and annoyed.

"But you should swing by anyway, he owes me thirty euros."

"Who _can_ help us, Naboo?" 'Howard' asked impatiently.

"I'm getting to it, aren't I? Calm down. The one who can help you lives in a far off realm, and to reach him you must travel where few have traveled before…"

Naboo waved his hands over the crystal ball again, murmuring in a strange shamanic tongue that sounded suspiciously like gibberish. Inside the seeing ball, a blackness spread, interspersed with tiny pinpricks of light that sped forward as if the viewer were journeying through the vast emptiness of space.

"The final frontier," 'Vince' proclaimed with a grim determination. "It all makes sense now."

"Actually, that's the screen-saver," Naboo corrected, tapping the side of the ball with his palm. The space scene flickered out of view instantly, revealing a dark, sooty building beneath a foreboding sky. Next to the smokestack was a gritty, peeling billboard featuring a red rose.

"Here is where you will find the answers you seek."

"What, the abandoned greeting card factory?" 'Howard' asked doubtfully.

"I'll make some calls, try to figure things out on this end," Naboo told the pair as he gathered up the crystal ball and the scrolls from the counter. "But you two'd better get going. Who knows how much time you've got left."

'Vince' leapt up, bobbing from side to side like a boxer. "Okay then, let's go, let's get it done, let's take it home. C'mon, Vince. Get those powerful legs in gear."

'Howard' looked up at him, clearly unimpressed. "What, right now? It's the middle of the night. How about tomorrow around noon-ish?"

'Vince' made a face at him. "Are you ill?"

"One-thirty, maybe, and we can do a nice little brunch beforehand. Do you like omelets?"

"You saw the crystal ball!" 'Vince' retorted angrily. "I was disappearing out of existence!"

"Maybe we should make it a continental thing—that might be better. It's supposed to be hot out tomorrow," 'Howard' mused to himself, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. 'Vince' stared at him, dumbfounded at his lack of concern.

"I might not even be around by then!"

"Why, are you going on a trip?"

'Vince' glared as his own face blinked at him in mild interest.

"We're leaving. Now, in fact, so get moving."

'Howard' sighed, stretching a bit. "Okay, okay, we'll go now—keep your shirt on."

The pair had barely stepped out of the shop, however, when Lester Corncrake ran straight into them.

..

..

..

_**On the next installment of The Switch:**_

_.._

_- 'Howard' attempts to scat, and Lester recruits him on an important jazz mission__  
- 'Vince' makes a new "friend," but loses a game__  
- 'Howard' makes a promise, and Lester takes a stand  
- The Moon!_

..

_**Stay tuned!**_


	3. Howard and Vince Split Up

**The Switch**

..

_**Chapter Three: Howard and Vince Split Up**_

..

..

The night air outside the shop wasn't exactly cool; though the world around them was muted in blues and grays, suggesting the crisp chill of nighttime, there was a warm heaviness that lingered about them courtesy of the summer sun's long day of work. The warmth threatened to be fickle, however, like that first few seconds of hot water from a sun-warmed garden hose. 'Vince' unconsciously rubbed his arms a little at the thought—no wonder Vince was always wearing jackets in the summer, Howard realized. Was the reason this body was so white because Vince had no circulatory system?

"_Howard!_"

Hearing his name jolted 'Vince' right out of his reverie and he turned—but the figure in the night had not been addressing him.

"Thank goodness you're here!" Lester Corncrake exclaimed scratchily, grabbing the man who was actually Vince by the arm. 'Howard' jumped, startled. "I've been lookin' everywhere for you!"

'Howard' balked at the contact, regarding the old man warily.

"Maybe we can shelve this for another night, Lester—we're actually in the middle of something right now, yeah?" 'Vince' spoke up in a very Howard-esque, matter-of-fact tone.

"Howard, why's your creepy jazz friend hanging round the shop in the middle of the night?" 'Howard' whispered to 'Vince,' sounding more than a little unsettled. Lester somberly took off his hat and tipped it in 'Vince''s direction.

"Lovely evening to you, Vincent. Excuse me for intruding on your promenade."

He leaned in close to 'Howard', who was clearly still uncomfortable with the fact that Lester had not released his arm. "I know you've probably got a nice evening planned for your handsome companion here, but this is really important."

'Vince' rolled his eyes.

The real Vince extricated himself from the jazz guru's grip, trying out a different tactic.

"Sheep a doopa deep, Lester," 'Howard' scatted in his best Howard impression. He hid a short cough in distaste before continuing. "How 'bout you come round tomorrow to funk out, I've got some new Jimmy Jazz records in that are just dynamite! But I can't hang tonight—my best mate Vince and I are going to the corduroy emporium. It's sure to be, er… the bee's knees. Pow!"

'Vince' heaved a condescending sigh. "Honestly?" he asked, sounding just a hint betrayed but not at all surprised. 'Howard' broke character to lean back, obviously impressed with his own apparent skill.

"I bet I could fool your mother like this," he noted.

"You're an idiot—you know that, right? Besides, the emporium closes at five sharp, just like the bank."

"Have you been _possessed?_" Lester suddenly exclaimed in shock. He paused long enough for 'Howard' to sober up and 'Vince' to nod smugly. However, his face soon blossomed into a delighted grin.

"…That was the best scattin' I've EVER heard outta you! Did you put a little extra skeedily-doo-wop in your coffee this mornin'?"

'Howard' only laughed at the murderous look the real Howard was fixing on the blind man.

"Anyway, I'm sorry to come over so long past your bedtime—"

'Howard' snickered again—it was only nine o'clock.

"—but it's a jazztastrophie! I need your unique expertise, and time is running out! We've moved to def-con scoobity nine!"

'Vince' raised his eyebrows, impressed by this news despite himself.

"Sorry, but I really am otherwise occupied right now," 'Howard' explained, dropping his fake Northern accent. "We're going to be off, now—cheers, Lester."

"I can't let you do that, Howard," Lester informed him gravely, clutching at his arm again. "Not when the whole free jazz world is at stake. To be-bop headquarters—come on! Skiddily bow, ba-kowww!"

Lester began to drag 'Howard' off down the sidewalk, much to the taller man's barely-concealed terror.

"I'll just head off to the abandoned greeting card factory alone then, sort this whole mess out myself." Vince' called after the two sarcastically. "Don't wait up!"

'Howard' only gestured helplessly at him as he rounded a corner with Lester, disappearing from sight.

"Brilliant," the real Howard muttered, taking off in the other direction.

..

Above the heads of the three men, above the streetlights and the roofs of the shops lining the street, the night sky glowed a soft blue-black, with light wisps of cloud floating gently by to play peek-a-boo with an errant star or two. A large creamy-white sphere illuminated the scene—and with the sound of a boulder rolling aside, The Moon turned to face the earth down below.

"Some people, ah, like to say that de moon is made of cheese," it said, big eyes both earnest and troubled. "And sometimes when I'm licking my lips, right, it tastes salty. Like a cheese. So I don't know if that's right… or not."

It paused, looking thoughtfully to the side. "I wonder: if I eat a cheese, does that make me a cannibal? Can a moon cheese be a cannibal? Does a cannibal cheese eat moon cheese?"

It considered this, then returned its gaze forwards. "But then I remember that those people are prolly just full o' shit."

The Moon stared silently for a beat before grinning its dopy, apple-cheeked grin.

With another sound like a boulder, its face slowly turned back around.

..

'Vince' stood alone at the black iron gate of the old abandoned greeting card factory, looking up at the building in apprehension. It had started to rain halfway through his trek, and he swiped away several long strands of wet black hair from his forehead in disgust. Howard knew that if Vince had been in his proper body on the walk through the rain, he would have somehow managed to still look flawless—he banished the annoying thought from his mind with a short exhale. Vince's body or no, he was still Howard Moon, man of action. Squaring Vince's shoulders and setting his mouth in a firm line, he pushed on the iron gate and it lurched open with the sound of crunching rust.

Wiry looking weeds had forced their way between the slate cracks of the walkway which wound through the courtyard—on either side were lawns with large gray statues like gravestones which depicted opened greeting cards, balloons, and phrases such as 'Have a Fun Bat Mitzvah' and 'Happy Birthday, Grandson'. 'Vince' caught sight of one particular statue which read 'Get Better from Your Tapeworm' and laid a hand on his gut, unsettled.

At last, 'Vince' reached the front doors. The ornate brass handles were dusty and tarnished, but he managed to wrench one downwards, pulling the door away from its hinge with a Hollywood-style creak.

As 'Vince' peeked into the inside of the factory, a harp played a loud, romantic glissando to herald the complete change in atmosphere. 'Vince' nearly stopped in his tracks to look around in cautious wonderment. Everything was shiny and new, and the baby blue and yellow walls were adorned with crayon drawings and candy floss. Colorful bubbles floated dreamily through the air as a red toy train wove along the floor around brightly colored blocks, jack-in-the-boxes, and plush, fluffy stuffed animals. Every corner was stuffed tightly with toys, and construction paper chains hung from the ceilings, giving the large room the appearance of being rather small.

"Golly, you're a pretty doll!"

'Vince' looked around, alarmed by the jarringly loud, high pitched voice. The voice giggled, and the sound was creepy, like a young boy who should have hit puberty years ago but hadn't.

"Over here, silly!"

'Vince' turned his head to find a stuffed toy watching him with large button eyes. Though it spoke with a child's voice, it was about the size of a man, with a pudgy body that looked as though it were made of burlap. Its thick yellow yarn hair was cut into a bowl cut, complete with yarn eyebrows, and on its chubby, grinning cheeks it sported two red painted spots of blush. Though it had all the proportions of a man, it did not have any arms, leaving its hands to protrude directly out from the sides of its body. 'Vince' regarded this grotesque figure with more than a little disgust.

"Did you get out of your house, Mister Dollie?" it asked 'Vince', fluttering its impossibly long blonde lashes against its wide button eyes. The toy seemed always to be smiling, and not in any sort of endearing way. And for some reason, it spoke with an American accent.

"I'm not a doll," 'Vince' replied, voice both curt and informative in a way only Howard could properly manage. His posture was guarded as the giant toy swayed to and fro in front of him, slapping its torso lightly with its stubby hands.

"You're the size of a doll," the toy exclaimed, jerking still with a flash of its button eyes. "You're pretty like a doll. You're even wearing clothes like a doll!"

The toy pointed towards a doll on the floor whose lemon-yellow ringlets were pulled away from its pretty china face in bows. It was wearing a traditional doll-looking petticoat, but over the skirt it wore a t-shirt that was white and emblazoned with a glittery skull wearing headphones—identical to the shirt that Vince's body was currently wearing. A few bars of "Electro Boy" resounded through the room.

'Vince' scowled.

"Look, I'm not a doll, and I don't have time to play games. I'm looking for someone to help me out with a serious problem."

The toy made a sad face. "You're pretty, like a pretty doll. Except you remind me of my step daddy. He was a jack-o-lantern. His name was Neil. He'd shine my bottom with a shoe horn til it glowed as glossy and bright as a candy red apple. Then later he took a poop on a hayride."

'Vince' looked around warily, unsure of how to respond to this confession of Halloween-flavored dysfunction. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the creature spoke up before he could decide, a grin again lighting its features.

"My name's Billy Bluebell!"

'Vince' eyed the grinning creature apprehensively. "It's, er, a pleasure to meet you, Billy."

"Bluebell!"

"Billy Bluebell, right. Do you know anything about body switching, by chance? Or perhaps you could point me in the direction of someone who has experience with the topic?"

The toy didn't seem to hear him, still beaming a tad too enthusiastically at 'Vince'.

"I'm the mayor of the Bluebell room!"

"Is that this room? That we're in currently?" 'Vince' inquired politely with a hand gesture. "It's quite the sight. Lots of… bubbles."

"No, this is a different room!" the toy yelled, suddenly cross. But in a flash, its unrelenting grin reappeared. "What brings you to this happy fancy place?"

'Vince' clasped his hands together, rocking back on his heels in a business-like way. "Right. Well, my friend and I—he's actually not here at the moment, but I'm sure he'll be round soon—we sort of fell, right? Into a mirror. And the interesting thing is—"

"Do you have any lip balm I could borrow?" the chubby toy interrupted loudly. 'Vince' gave the creature an uneasy smile that was really more a quick flash of his teeth.

"No… no, I don't."

"How about a fine-toothed comb?"

'Vince' ignored him, and cleared his throat quickly before awkwardly attempting to continue. "So, after we fell, ahem, into the mirror—"

The toy let out a noisy, trilling sound, startling 'Vince'.

"It's time to play a game now!"

'Vince' frowned impatiently. "No, thank you—do you think you listen to me, please? I've got a serious problem that needs attending to. Very time sensitive, important stuff, so if you don't mind..."

The toy's button eyes flashed dangerously. "If you don't play a game with me, I'll tell on you!"

'Vince' scoffed. "You'll 'tell on me'? Are we in school? Besides, who're you going to tell—the toy train? Electro-dollie? Come on, then, I can take you on. I'm Howard Moon, sir. I'll come at you like a stubborn hard-water stain. I'm not afraid of a little sack-cloth ninny like you."

Billy Bluebell lowered his yarn eyebrows. "I will tell Kokimbe, the fanged prince. He's asleep, but if I call him, he'll squeeze your headbox like a sun-ripened tit."

'Vince' froze, obviously reconsidering.

"Do I need to call him?" the toy intimated in a stage-whisper, trying and failing to look threatening by folding its fingers together. They didn't quite reach, so the strange plaything drummed them ominously against its chest instead.

"No, no—that won't be necessary," 'Vince' hastily amended. He laughed nervously and a little too loudly, as if pretending that the entire interaction had been a hearty jest between friends. "Let's… play a game. It'll be fun! I do like a bit of fun. Maybe we can play a game and then we can let me speak with whoever else is in charge around here, hm?"

Billy Bluebell wiggled vigorously from side to side, clearly ecstatic by 'Vince''s agreement to play. "Let's play the shouting game!"

'Vince''s eyes darted across the yelling toy's face, his mouth forced into the shape of an unconvincing grin. His eyes were beginning to hurt a little—Howard supposed Vince's ocular muscles weren't used to being so shifty.

"Isn't… Kokimbe sleeping somewhere close by, though?" he asked by barely moving his lightly clenched jaw, eyes brimming with barely concealed fright

"Isn't Kokimbe sleeping somewhere close by, though?" the toy echoed, raising its voice to a dangerously loud volume. 'Vince''s eyes went wide with alarm.

"No, no," he said, trying to sound reprimanding. "That's not good. That's not at all good. Please stop that."

The quietness of 'Vince''s voice only delighted Billy. "NO, NO! THAT'S NOT GOOD! THAT'S NOT AT ALL GOOD! PLEASE STOP THAT!"

"Keep your blasted voice down!" 'Vince' hissed, terrified

"KEEP YOUR BLASTED VOICE DOWN!" the toy howled, so overjoyed from yelling that its declarations began to sound almost sexual in nature. It was grinning so widely it looked as if its fat cheeks would split. "HOORAY, I'M WINNING!" it proclaimed in an echoing shriek.

"Yes! Yes, you're winning! You've won!" 'Vince' panicked, speaking very quickly. "Imagine that—good game, Billy Bluebell. That sure was fun, that game we played, the one that's over now. So… so fun."

'Vince' watched anxiously as the toy regarded him with suspicion for a long moment. Through his fear, he wondered idly if sweat gland activity was a part of the soul—he couldn't remember ever seeing Vince's forehead as damp as it currently felt.

"You're bad at playing games!" Billy pouted loudly at last. "But I'll give you a do-over!"

The toy cocked its head, beaming.

"Put on the robe for the sacred ceremony!"

'Vince' frowned in confusion. "Sacred ceremony?"

"Yes! It is very very very important! If you say no, I'll holler some more!"

"Okay, okay, I accept," 'Vince' said quickly. Then, after a beat: "…What exactly is it that we're doing, now?"

Four minutes later, a very annoyed Howard hunched Vince's back over the edge of a tiny table. His thin legs were pressed almost to his chin so that his feet could touch the floor—white cowboy boots peeked out beneath the frills of a pink apron. Seated around the table were, predictably, various dolls and toys with cups and saucers before them.

"More sugar lumps, Missus Higginbottom?" Billy Bluebell offered suggestively from across the table.

'Vince' heaved a sigh that was just as much a groan and stuck out his teacup halfheartedly at the button-eyed freak.

"DANCE BREAK!" the toy screamed, attempting to clap its hands and instead just thumping its chest. The tea party table and chairs rolled away, and 'Vince' had to leap up so that he didn't roll away with them. On cue, the lights dimmed and various colored spotlights began to rove across the room. Dolls, jack-in-the-boxes, and stuffed animals crawled over, bobbing their heads awkwardly to the beats emanating from Electro-dollie's DJ station.

"Dance, fool!" Billy barked, shimmying in a way that made 'Vince' yearn for a shower. Though Vince—the real one—was arguably not a bad dancer, Howard begrudgingly moved Vince's narrow hips jerkingly, shaking his fists as if carrying maracas.

As the music pounded, the toys with their fixed, plastered smiles swayed and wobbled like poorly controlled, nightmarish puppets. The lights, like those in a club, flashed and blinded, and 'Vince' squinted in overwhelming annoyance.

"I know how this story goes," he muttered against the throbbing bassline. Through the sea of dazzling lights and activity, Electro-dollie pumped up the volume of the track, eliciting a wave of oddly pitched, creepy cheers from the crowd.

"Here I am, swept up in an outlandish nightmare. Somehow, somewhere, Vince is having the time of his—"

..

—The silence was jarring on the main floor of the Vinyl Doctor's, amplifying the sounds of rustling envelopes and the far off howl of the wind tenfold. A grandfather clock ticked deafeningly while an old fashioned radio played a tinny, 1950's tune involving trumpets with cup mutes. Vince Noir, in the body of Howard Moon, had draped himself over the back of his chair, seated at a table littered with paper and stamps, as if he were a lifeless corpse—the ultimate declaration of boredom.

Lester, unaware of his companion's posture, licked at a stamp and placed it down on the table in front of 'Howard' without looking. Judging by the obscenely large pile of stamps that had accumulated in the spot, 'Howard' had been neglecting his duties in some sort of assembly line setup for a very long time.

"I thought you said that this was a jazz-tastrophe," 'Howard' moaned, devastated with boredom.

"If we don't get these letters out by tomorrow, no _way_ the post office is gonna deliver 'em before the print deadline!"

'Howard' rolled his eyes in a long, exaggerated motion. "And?"

"Howard, this isn't like you," Lester remarked with a small, concerned frown. "Addressing envelopes for letters to the editor is usually your favorite part of jazz activism."

"'Jazz activism'?" 'Howard' echoed in disbelief. "Is that really a thing? Not to mention that hand-writing hundreds of letters to newspapers each week and never even getting them published is quite possibly the most thoroughly depressing thing I've ever heard of in my life."

"It's perfectly natural for men of our age to get the desire to share their innermost concerns and deranged conspiracy theories with the world. And newspapers are the best venue for that," Lester explained, still confused by 'Howard''s protests. "Relatives and friends, well, they die off, and the rest just become so uncomfortable around us that they don't even think of us as human anymore. It's the circle of life, Howard."

"I guess I just didn't realize how deep into the realm of fantastic loserdom he had gone," 'Howard' mused to himself, remorse tingeing his otherwise monotone voice. "If I get out of here, I'm going to buy Howard a jigsaw puzzle with ten thousand pieces. And pick out all the corners before I give it to him!"

Lester furrowed his brow, completely bewildered by 'Howard''s internal monologue. "What?"

"I should have been a better friend to him," 'Howard' continued mournfully, staring at the ceiling. "Invited him out more. Asked him how his day was. Who knows what might have been?" He heaved a melodramatic sigh so expertly his lungs might have been Olympic shot-putters.

"Now I'm probably going to die here."

Lester suddenly slammed his fist down in a fit of passion.

"Now see here, Howard," he scolded fervently. "This may not be glamorous, and it may not be the best way not to get paper cuts on your dick, but I'll be damned if the Observer doesn't find out how we feel about Sugarballs McGinty's gradual switch from jazz funk to jazz funk fusion. Now we are going to finish these letters, and then after that we're going to sit quietly for an hour and think about tubas! Now how's _that_ sound for ya?"

There was a muffled thud as 'Howard''s head hit the desk. Lester Corncrake beamed, still looking at the wall instead of at anyone in particular.

"That's more like it!" he exclaimed proudly. "Now, let's roll out the fine-point calligraphy pen and stamp booklet number fifty three! That always tides you over when you're feelin' saucy," he chuckled.

From the depths of his throat, 'Howard' strangled out a long, tortured groan.

..

..

..

_**On the next installment of The Switch:**_

_.._

_- The party takes a turn for the worse and careens headlong into a ditch on fire__  
- 'Howard' formulates a bold plan—'Vince' has his reservations__  
- Action-packed chase scenes abound!  
- Old friends return unexpectedly, and 'Vince' makes an important appointment_

..

_**Stay tuned!**_


	4. Howard and Vince Run Away

**The Switch**

..

_**Chapter Four: Howard and Vince Run Away**_

..

..

'Vince' had long since begun to tire of dancing, swaying half-heartedly on his feet with a blank expression on his pretty face. He cursed himself for not changing into sensible shoes before he left the flat—the cowboy boots that had come part and parcel with the body switch must have been new, because they were hard and completely unmerciful on his sore feet.

When the dance break had first started, he had been worried out of his mind that Kokimbe would awaken—whether this fantastical beast was a heavy sleeper or a lie Billy Bluebell had invented was now a distinction he found himself barely caring about anymore. He was almost too sick of this entire adventure to think of formulating an escape plan.

Just then, a tall, perfectly accessorized figure in black came to dance next to him.

"Hey! Howard! Great party!" 'Howard' greeted, cheerfully surprised. He quickly gave his friend a scrutinizing once-over. "Electro homemaker? Not too shabby on you, actually. Well, on me, I suppose."

Hearing his own voice, albeit speaking with a light south-London accent, snapped 'Vince' right out of his morose thoughts. "Vince! What are you doing here? Where've you been?"

"I was at Lester's for a while, but that didn't work out," 'Howard' explained, still dancing. "Then I found out about this party—the bouncer said I wasn't on the list, right, so I had to gate-crash. D'yeh know there's an actual gate on this place, too? I've never gate-crashed at a place with an actual gate before—though I suppose I didn't actually _crash_ into—"

"Never mind that, we have to get out of here!" 'Vince' interrupted.

"What? No way! I'm having a good time," 'Howard' scoffed as he danced.

"We haven't got time for any more distract—actually, what did Lester want, was it important?"

'Howard' didn't even look at his anxious friend. "I don't know, something about sending letters somewhere," he said dismissively as he shot a wink at a dark-haired doll who seemed to be admiring his dance moves.

'Vince''s eyes went wide in realization. "The letters to the editor! The jazz activism letters!" He grasped 'Howard' by the shoulders. "Did you finish them in time?"

'Howard' regarded the man in the pink apron clutching him with a strange look and shrugged off his grip. "Do you mind? I'm trying to get my tall, Northern groove on. And no, I don't think we did. About halfway through Lester accidentally impaled himself on a letter opener," he remarked, miming a sharp jab to the throat. "So I figured I'd take off."

'Vince' stared, upset by this casual confession for more than a few reasons.

"Listen," he began, deciding to just ignore this gruesome explanation if only to avoid the obligation to give 'Howard' a long lecture about it. "We both need to get out of his factory, now. There's a giant sleeping monster living here and I'd rather not risk being around when it wakes up."

"What?" 'Howard' yelled over the noise.

"I said there's a sleeping—"

"Speak up, I can't hear you!"

'Vince' leaned in and yelled straight into his ear. "_We're leaving!_"

'Howard' sighed in frustration as he watched 'Vince' begin to stalk off, only to stop, remembering something. He hastily unknotted his frilly apron and threw it to the ground.

"Come on!"

The pair began to weave through the tiny crowd bobbing in their stilted, puppet-like way to make their way to the doors, 'Howard' only a little reluctantly. They hadn't made it ten feet, however, when they heard the loud thunk of a switch and were hit with a spotlight. The music instantly shut off.

"Where are you daisies going?" Billy wailed grumpily.

'Vince' and 'Howard' froze, blinded by the light and lost for an excuse.

"We're all out of crisps?" 'Vince' attempted, his sheepish smile a dismal failure at convincing.

Billy puffed out his cheeks and glowered at the two men, and as he stared, the crowd of toys began to cower and shrink back into the corners of the room. An ominous squeaking echoed from the decayed rafters, which incidentally looked like much more appropriate décor for an abandoned factory than the fresh paint and bubbles. Hanging from the rotten beams were hundreds of gray and white greeting cards, flapping open and closed like so many tattered bats. A smattering of them flew down into the room, circling Billy Bluebell and landing in many a distressed dolly's curls. 'Vince' shuddered at the sudden and obvious change in atmosphere—the room even seemed colder than it was a moment ago.

"I can't see, is he angry?" 'Howard' whispered to 'Vince', squinting anxiously to get a better view. "It's like looking through one of those eclipse-viewing boxes," he muttered in frustration. The real Howard, however, had seen everything and was much too frightened to provide a proper comeback.

"You're bad at playing with us. You're bad at dancing with us. _And_ you made Jelly Otter insecure about his body!" Billy listed angrily. 'Vince' frowned when he heard the last grievance mentioned.

"Beg pardon?" he asked, politely confused. 'Howard' winced guiltily.

"I _may _have called Jelly Otter a gravy-faced fatball and hurled a cheese platter at his wife."

"Why on earth would you do that to Jelly Otter?" 'Vince' hissed at 'Howard,' terrified for his life. 'Howard only jutted his chin out rebelliously at 'Vince'.

"It's a long story, but suffice it to say Jelly Otter would do well to watch himself from here on in." he muttered angrily.

From a dark corner of the room, an extremely sad pink puffball of an otter with a pastel jellybean design on his back and bright amber eyes whimpered piteously. 'Howard' narrowed his eyes and sneered at the round toy, gesturing with his arms sharply as if daring the creature to come fight him. It cowered in fright and 'Vince' hit him lightly on the shoulder, incredulous at this exchange.

"What's the matter with you?"

"You are bad, bad toys!" Billy Bluebell interrupted in a shout, button eyes flashing dangerously. "And bad toys are given to Kokimbe to play with!"

"Now you've done it," 'Vince' whimpered, bottom lip curling in terror in a very Howard-like fashion. "We're going to be eaten alive. This is it!"

A deep gong resounded from the darkest reaches of the room, startling several groups of card-bats into flight. Its long echo made 'Vince' and 'Howard' aware of how empty and dark the room had become now that all the toys had fled—only a few bats and paper cups remained to litter the air and floor. Billy Bluebell waddled over to a conveniently placed trapdoor near his feet, needing to lean all the way to the floor in order to grasp it with his stubby hand. Somehow he managed to get it open.

"Goodbye, step-pumpkin! Goodbye, tall monster!" he called, looking as though he was trying to fling his arms into the air in a dramatic exit but failing miserably. "Dance your last sad dance with our prince!"

Spinning three times on the steps of the trap door, he finally disappeared and slammed the door behind him.

From the furthest reaches of the room, two bright circles of light pierced through the darkness, accompanied by a low rumble.

"Oh, god," 'Vince' whined, clutching at 'Howard''s silver fishnet shawl. "Don't kill me… I've got so much to give!"

'Howard', not exactly braver than his companion, leaned back fearfully. "Yeah, like _my_ body back!" he reminded, voice climbing several octaves as he glanced around in wide-eyed panic.

Alone in their island of light, the two men stood close and watched nervously for activity in the empty room. They couldn't see much outside of their spotlight, but they could hear shifting sounds, as if someone were dragging a sack of cement along the floor.

Then there was silence.

Suddenly, an enormous coil dropped down around 'Vince''s body, hauling him towards the rest of the even more enormous body of a snake. 'Vince' cried out, and 'Howard' stumbled back in horror and awe.

Now the monster could be seen in the light. It was easily twenty-five feet long, with almost ten feet of head and torso that it kept erect. The fanged prince was made entirely of what looked like a giant beige sock, with dark red and purple yarn scales sewed onto its surface. Its eyes were two black spirals of yarn, lit from within by the most sinister of black magic—or perhaps some sort of internal flashlight. Its head was not incredibly distinct from its body, save for the eyes and the opening for its mouth—which was, at the moment, twisted in a triumphant grin at the fact that it held a small man trapped in its coils.

"Help me!" 'Vince' yelped as the enormous snake began to wind more of itself around his body, constricting him. 'Howard''s eyes went wide with panic.

"How to stop a snake, how to stop a snake, how to—err…" he mumbled frantically to himself. Suddenly his face lit up with an idea.

"…Choke it!"

"What?"

"Well, it's used to eating dolls and stuff, yeah? Dolls are rather small," 'Howard' reasoned, eyes gleaming with excitement. "So what you do is, you let him eat you! And then he just chokes on your body 'cause it's too big. And then maybe you can like… make friends with someone on the inside who'll help you find an exit, like a friendly zombie field mouse. Or punch your way out."

'Vince' stared at the man in his body, who was currently miming a few punches, as if he had grown two heads. "That's your plan?" he asked in disbelief as the snake continued its job of wrapping him. "Let him eat me?"

It took a beat for the brightness to fade from 'Howard''s face as Vince realized the absurdity of his plan. But in a snap, it was back. "Wait! I heard somewhere that snakes are allergic to soy…"

"Vince!" 'Vince' managed to gasp in a muffled voice as the sock snake squeezed tighter. "Use the flute!"

Vince cocked Howard's head. "Sorry, what?"

"The flute!" 'Vince' choked out, one of the snake's coils already winding its way around his head.

'Howard' looked beside him, and on a golden flute stand laid a golden flute. His mouth formed a little 'o' in realization. "Right!"

'Howard' examined the flute hurriedly, turning it sideways and upside-down, trying to figure out which side was up. Finally, he discovered the correct orientation for holding the flute with an understanding nod and smile.

"Hurry!"

Finally having figured out which way to hold the instrument, 'Howard''s childlike smile soon morphed into a cocky one as he held the flute up threateningly.

"Time to get tamed, you sewing machine reject!"

'Howard' lifted the flute up, narrowing his eyes in concentration, and with a deep breath of preparation…

…threw it at the snake as hard as he could.

'Vince' groaned in anguish at the ridiculous tactic.

The flute actually hit its target, however, lodging itself in one of the snake's big yarn eyes. It reared its head with a low growl, loosening its coils long enough for 'Vince' to get over his surprise at the success of 'Howard''s ploy and scramble out to freedom.

"Run!" 'Vince' shouted, and both men raced to the exit as the sock snake roared in fury.

They managed to pry open the heavy double doors before the snake managed to dislodge the golden flute and give chase, both glancing back in panic as the serpent rumbled towards them. The creature's body didn't wind back and forth in a slither as it moved, like other snakes. With its head reared and its body straight, it propelled forward much like a nightmarish freight train, yarn circled eyes lit like headlights. With the head start, however, Vince and Howard managed to keep it at a distance conducive to not being devoured. They hurried down the front steps and through the courtyard.

"Go! Go!"

The sock snake was too big, and smashed through the front door, stone pieces and chalky debris flying free from its frames as the two shopkeepers fled.

Inevitably, the yarn-covered behemoth chased them down the streets of Dalston. It chased them past shop fronts, winding, cobbled streets slick and rain and dreary in the lamplight, and other scenery so similar it felt like it could have been on a loop.

"This is great, Howard," 'Howard' remarked cheerily as he pumped his arms up and down in a light jog. "Your legs are about a mile long! I feel like I'm running on one of those moving sidewalks at the airport—half the effort, twice the distance. It's like a leisurely night-time stroll!"

'Vince' couldn't even scrounge up the energy to glare at his fresh-faced companion. His jet black hair was plastered to his cheeks in unattractive, primal-looking strips in some places and sticking almost straight up in others as he sucked down air in ragged, spluttering gasps. 'Howard' didn't even look at his companion, still beaming happily as he shook his head once in amazement.

"Brilliant."

The sock snake roared in frustration as its quarry made a quick left turn at a sidewalk lined with hedges, disappearing from sight.

The snake barreled around the corner, straight past two men sitting closely together on a bench, each holding a newspaper to obscure their torsos and faces. The headlines of the newspapers which they clutched close to their bodies read, "News Pages Provide Excellent Cover While Hiding, Sources Say." Birds, the kind that chirp even in the night-time if something completely inconspicuous were going on, sang gently in the background, lending a serene quality to the scene. Each of the pair mirrored the other's posture, complete with casually crossed legs sporting white cowboy boots and silver ankle boots which looked like they belonged to a rather flirty sort of vicar, respectively.

'Vince' and 'Howard' ran up to them.

"Oi, mate, can we borrow those newspapers a tic?" 'Howard' asked hurriedly of the men as he jogged to a stop. 'Vince' took the first chance as soon as they had stopped to basically collapse on his feet, bending double and wheezing heavily from the effort of running with Vince's shorter legs.

"Piss off," retorted an impossibly deep, grumbling voice from behind the papers. 'Howard' frowned.

"We're in kind of a tight spot here. Be a sport, yeah, lend us a hand?"

"No."

'Howard' sighed impatiently. "Can't you just give us a part you're not reading? How about, uhh… travel?"

"Reading it."

"Umm…" 'Howard' floundered, increasingly agitated. "Society!"

"Next after travel," the low voice immediately intoned.

"Come on, who reads Society?" 'Howard' burst out in frustration. "We're on the run from a fugly stocking snake over here!"

"Fugly?" the voice echoed, enraged. Both newspapers flew aside to reveal the enormous sock snake, yarn eyes glowing in fury.

'Howard' and 'Vince' screamed in terror, and the trio resumed their chase.

..

Their second bout of running was short-lived, however. A few minutes away from the Nabootique, 'Vince' and 'Howard' skidded to a stop. Standing before them on the wide, damp street was a large crowd of about a hundred and fifty two people, wearing roughly hewn vests and shawls, and shouting in a language that made it clear that the country they hailed from most likely ended in "-slovakia." Bushy, grey-blonde mustaches adorned the faces of most of the men and some of the women, and goats baaed anxiously from somewhere within the clamor. Almost all of them clutched at melons, or held them aloft, or dragged them in large carts full of hay and small children. Most of them brandished melon ballers.

"Melons! Melons!" they squalled, the goats echoing their nasaly cries.

"Hey, I remember these guys!" 'Howard' noted, pleasantly surprised. " 'Melons, melons!' " he imitated, laughing and shaking his head. "What crazy characters."

"C'mon, we need to move," 'Vince' finally spoke up, seeming to have finally caught his breath.

Chugging to a stop, the yarn and sock snake surveyed the scene in front of it, eyes narrowing in calculation. In front of it was a loud, clamoring group of humans waving gourds about, but its prey were nowhere to be seen. With a snort of impatience, it sped off in another direction.

'Howard' and 'Vince' glanced around cautiously for any sign of the behemoth beneath two scratchy, woolen shawls. 'Howard' was the first to happily cast his aside on the top of a cart.

"I think he's gone now," he declared as 'Vince' struggled to untangle one scraggly jet black lock of hair from a particularly fibrous bit of shawl. 'Howard' peered around 'Vince''s shoulder, trying to get a look at his friend's face.

"Alright, Howard?" he asked with a touch of concern, patting the shorter man on the back.

"Let's just… get back to Naboo," 'Vince' sighed, finally managing to free himself of the shawl and flinging it to the ground in distaste. "Maybe he's found something out."

'Howard''s face fell, and he let out a long exhale.

"Genius idea, though, hiding amongst these melon gypsies," 'he noted half-heartedly, trying to cheer Howard up a bit and falling flat.

With a moody glare, 'Vince' forcefully blew a strand of hair from his eyes. But then he sighed again, glancing at 'Howard' with a brief, thankful expression.

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," 'Howard' breathed, grateful for his friend letting him lighten the mood.

The two men stood quietly with their thoughts, each varying degrees of disappointed and tired.

"Melon baller?" a fabric-draped woman begged wretchedly of 'Vince' and 'Howard.'

"Yeah, I work at the shop where you all got those melon ballers, actually," 'Howard' mentioned. "We're all sold out now, though."

The clamor fizzled to an abrupt silence as the entire crowd fixed 'Vince' and 'Howard' with identical stares, furious like starving animals.

"Out of the frying pan, eh Howard?" 'Howard' offered with a nervous chuckle as the group of melon-loving peasants moved towards them, very slowly. 'Vince''s eye twitched in a sort of deadened disbelief and rage as they stepped backwards in time with the advancing crowd.

"I hope you know I'm penciling you in right now."

"Penciling me in for what?"

"An appointment. A very important appointment with the good doctor. Tie a string round your finger. Pop it into your daily planner."

"The good doctor?"

"The good Doctor Beatings."

"Oh, come on," 'Howard' groaned.

"Yes, and his lovely assistant Nurse Wallop."

'Vince' put up his fists briefly so that 'Howard' couldn't possibly mistake his intentions.

"Come on, Howard."

"If you're a good boy, at the end of your thorough, thorough checkup he might give you a lolly. A lolly of agony."

"I'm sorry, alright?"

Their backs thumped gently against the wall of a building. 'Vince' shook his head, unmoved. "Can't change it now, Vince," he said grimly. "It's penciled in. In pencil—the most permanent of all writing utensils."

'Howard' sighed. "Whatever."

And the crowd of melon gypsies descended upon them.

..

..

..

_**On the next installment of The Switch:**_

_.._

_- The exciting return of the mysterious mystery box!_

_- Boosh banter and crippling, _crippling_ awkwardness_

_- The final battle, complete with plot twists and heroic speeches_

_- Naboo is the ruiner of several moments and adds insult to injury_

..

_**Stay tuned!**_


	5. Howard and Vince Reach Their Climax

**The Switch**

..

_**Chapter Five: Howard and Vince Reach Their Climax**_

..

..

"Where've you lot been?"

Howard dragged Vince's feet into the shop with all the grace and elegance of a half-drowned zombie. Naboo, who was sitting at the counter of the shop examining the mysterious box, glanced up at him with a mild expression.

"We almost died, Naboo, but thank you so much for asking," he spat sarcastically. The real Vince, looking incredibly discouraged but otherwise no worse for the wear, shuffled into the shop behind him.

"It was awful. There were weird little dolls everywhere, and a big snake, and I had to address envelopes in a small room for hours. Then we almost had our melons balled."

"Speaking of balls, you need to get yours checked. That's not friendly, man-to-man advice, either—I'm meaning your crystal one," 'Vince' added accusingly, jabbing his finger in the direction of the crystal seeing ball. 'Howard' leant back against the door with a sigh of frustration.

"At least we got away from that sock snake," he mentioned weakly.

"Yes, we did, but what have we actually accomplished?" 'Vince' shot back, raising his voice. "We managed to escape, but we never actually sorted out our problem, now did we?"

"I sorted it out while you were away, actually," Naboo noted, rounding the counter. "But I'm not sure if you're going to want to hear what must be done."

'Vince' collapsed into Naboo's empty seat. "I don't think you have to worry about that. At this point I think I'd do anything to put an end to this day."

"Except for licking stamps," 'Howard' warned, settling in next to the real Howard. Naboo stood solemnly in front of them both.

"I'm afraid the only way to switch back to your rightful forms is through a ceremony of the most intimate nature."

The pair of shopkeepers regarded Naboo quizzically.

"You must know each other, in an emotional and purely physical way," he continued. "You must each experience the other, moving as one. Breathing as one. Finding bliss as one. Spending a brief, pure moment completely in tandem."

There was an awkward pause as the implications of Naboo's speech slowly sunk in.

"What, win a three-legged race?" 'Howard' queried, eyes wide and completely oblivious. 'Vince' shot him a dirty look.

"He's talking about making love, you berk," he snapped, trying not to blush.

"I'll leave you two alone for a while," Naboo announced delicately, excusing himself to go upstairs.

In the shop, the silence grew thick around the two men, who sat with their shoulders tense from the weight of their discomfort. 'Howard' let out a low whistle, still stunned by the news. The silence drew on.

"Vince… in light of this… development… I think you have a right to know something. Because I feel it will be useful in the minutes to come…" 'Vince' began, holding his chin up in a brave, noble sort of way. 'Howard' looked to him understandingly, eyes encouraging him to continue.

"I am… not insignificantly attracted to you, in that body."

'Howard' stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Have you gone completely insane?"

"There's nothing funny or strange about a man being attracted to another man," 'Vince' announced hotly.

"You're not attracted to another man, though, are you? You're attracted to _yourself_!" 'Howard' countered. "That's well creepy! If anyone should be attracted to anyone, I should be attracted to you."

"Is that right?"

"Absolutely, it's right!"

"Come on, Vince," 'Vince' scoffed. "Get real. Look at me, then look at you. Right now you're a juicy specimen of raw, unbridled masculinity. An erotic hickory tree. A provocative man sundae with a cherry-mustache on top."

"You're all thirteen flavors stacked on top of each other on a sugar cone," 'Howard' retorted, motioning to 'Vince''s body. "I'm rum raisin if I'm having a good day."

"You're sensual red velvet cake."

'Howard' laughed. "You're off your rocker."

"Not an hour ago I was mistaken for a child's doll looking like this," 'Vince' shot back, gesturing along the length of Vince's torso. "You, however, are in the body of a maverick. A true man's man."

"You're in the body of an _everyone's_ man. Everyone's attracted to you, you transcend gender."

"I'm a baby bird with a fancy hairdo," 'Vince' declared. "I'm attractive to sequin fetishists and near-sighted lesbians."

'Howard' rolled his eyes, hiding a laugh. "Unbelievable. I still can't believe you want to bum yourself."

'Vince' took a moment to glare at him, but soon looked away nervously.

"So, I guess this is the only way."

"I guess so."

"After all these years…"

'Vince' looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while his cheeks burned.

"Let's just… get this over with, shall we?"

"Yeah, whatever," 'Howard' sighed in resignation.

'Vince' awkwardly put his hand on 'Howard''s thigh. 'Howard' made a face as if nauseous, but swallowed and nodded shortly. Vince, (the real Vince), being the more experienced of the two, gently cupped 'Vince''s cheek and leaned in, wrinkling his nose slightly. Being Howard behind the scenes, it was the first time that Vince's body had ever trembled in anticipation of a kiss. 'Howard' was faring a little better, but it wasn't the kiss that _he _was worried about.

"Please be gentle," 'Vince' quavered loudly in a way that made 'Howard' heave an uneasy sigh.

"Maybe don't talk so much, yeah? Or at all, really."

"Okay…" 'Vince' breathed, terrified. At any second, he realized, the slowly leaning part of their venture would be through, and where would that leave them? His eyelids fluttered clumsily shut, like twin butterflies overtaken with epilepsy, and he arranged his lips in what he prayed was the shape of a pucker.

The moment was quickly interrupted by Naboo descending the stairs with a small potion bottle in each hand.

"Seriously, though, a sip each of this potion and you'll be right as—"

Naboo halted, staring at the two shopkeepers leaning towards each other and wearing the most ridiculous expressions he had ever seen.

"I was kidding, before, you know," he told them, completely repulsed. 'Howard' and 'Vince' leapt back from one another, 'Vince' coughing and hiding a blush and 'Howard' adjusting his hair with one hand and pretending to be completely nonchalant.

"…You two disgust me," he announced after a beat. "You're just lucky Bollo isn't here to see you in this state."

He set the potion bottles on the counter between the two men.

"Drink this and go get lost for a while so I can scrub steel wool on my brain."

As he disappeared up the stairs, he shot the two of them one last revolted glare.

"Idiots."

The silence that followed was even more painfully uncomfortable than the previous one. 'Howard' cleared his throat.

"Well, that solves… that," 'Vince' offered awkwardly.

'Howard' puffed his cheeks out in an exhale, not speaking or making eye contact with the real Howard, who was nervously drumming a short beat on his thighs.

"Right then," 'Vince' announced after a moment, trying to seem businesslike. "Shall we, ah, partake?"

'Howard' eagerly grabbed at one of the bottles. "That would be a world of yes," he drawled, still avoiding 'Vince''s eye contact as he swung the potion towards his companion in a brief toast. "Here's to never touching each other ever again."

'Vince' chuckled awkwardly. "Cheers."

Not moments after they both held the potions to their lips, however, did the shop's bell jingle. 'Vince' and 'Howard' both looked past the mysterious box to the door.

Standing before them, heralded by an ominous crack of thunder and lightning, was the giant yarn and sock snake.

"Got you now," it rumbled in its low voice.

'Vince' and 'Howard' screamed out in fear as the creature barreled into the shop. 'Vince' winced as it sent a jazz record display flying with a swipe of its tail.

The two shopkeepers leapt up, rounding the counter to try and get to the door, but the snake had turned to head them off with a deep chortle.

As the snake spun around, however, its tail managed to knock Naboo's locked box from the counter to the space of floor between itself and its prey. As if in slow motion, the padlock shattered and the darkened, scratched-on runes began to glow with an ancient magic. The box's lid flew off.

"NO!" Naboo yelled as he ran down from the stairs, but the damage had been done. The contents of the box spilled out onto the floor, right in the center of the shop.

The slow motion stopped as all of the members of the shop stared, nonplussed, at small, slippery pile.

"Fish?" 'Vince' questioned, confused. Naboo threw his hands up in a mild sort of frustration.

"My red herrings!" he exclaimed, disappointed. "I was going to eat those later."

'Vince' and 'Howard' both stared at the tiny shaman.

"Herrings?" 'Vince' echoed in disbelief. "_That's_ what you had in your big scary juju box?"

'"Then why'd you make such a big deal about us not opening it, you big blueberry?"

Naboo crossed his arms defensively. "What, like I need a reason to keep you dickbags from messing with my stuff?"

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the snake decided to recover from its surprise at the appearance of the herrings. With a guttural snarl, it lunged at its hapless victims. 'Howard' and 'Vince' each dove in different directions out of the way, causing the snake to smash into the cabinet they'd been standing against. Naboo winced as a muffled shatter emanated from its inside. 'Howard' and 'Vince' scrambled over to the wall on the opposite side of the shop.

The shop's bell jingled again.

"Howard, look!" 'Howard' exclaimed in wonder, pointing at the door.

With wings spread wide and glimmering in the moonlight, a large, scarred owl flew into the shop. In its silvery talons, it clutched the trowel that Howard had left behind at the community garden.

"My trowel!" 'Vince' cried as the owl swooped over and dropped the sacred instrument between the two men. With a mighty hoot, it circled back around, another jingle of the door heralding its exit.

There was no time to lose. 'Vince' swiftly reached down to grab at the tool as the snake shook its head, still disoriented from the impact of the cabinet.

"Wait…" he suddenly realized. "I can't do this."

'Howard''s eyes widened in alarm. "What do you mean you can't do it?" he yelped, voice cracking in a very Vince-like manner. "Pick up the trowel and give it to him good!"

'Vince' straightened dramatically, looking into the distance. "This trowel was specially crafted by the artisan garden monks of the great garden mountains," he explained somberly. "Designed to fit only my hands. Designed for me to wield. Designed to be a part of me."

He turned to face 'Howard' again, his mouth set in a brave line as he gripped the taller man's arm. "Now it must be a part of you."

'Howard' looked down at his hands. They were indeed the hands of Howard Moon, and the wisdom of his friend's words dawned on him. He was in Howard's body. Only he could wield the trowel.

The yarn and sock snake had managed to turn itself around, and gave a low growl of annoyance as stared its quarry down.

"Now, Vince!" 'Vince' cried out as the snake began to barrel towards them. 'Howard' grabbed at the trowel on the floor and with a warlike shout, plunged it deep into the yarn snake's chest as the creature flew into them.

'Howard' twisted the trowel, half terrified by his nerve, and wrenched it out. It burst out of the snake's torso tangled in a knotted mess of red string, and the behemoth let out a hoarse moan.

"Quick!" 'Howard' urged, grabbing at some of the string and pulling on it frantically. 'Vince' snatched more string from the wound and began yanking as quickly as he could, one hand following the other.

The snake shrieked horribly as it began to unravel. As the pair pulled, the red string in their hands gave way to blue, then black, then deep green—soon, 'Vince' and 'Howard' were pulling at the thick beige fibers of its skin and the reds and purples of its yarn scales, until all that was left was a large pile of thread and white stuffing. After tense moment, the glowing light of the creature's eyes slowly faded to black.

'Howard' sighed in relief, sliding down against the wall his back had been pressed against. 'Vince' too let out an exhale, regarding his friend with pride.

"That was… some of the best trowel work I've ever seen," he admitted. "I mean that. Your technique was sublime."

'Howard' smiled a little, looking up at 'Vince' and tucking a piece of his hair behind one ear. "It was all instinct, really," he amended humbly. "As soon as this body had that trowel in its massive hand, it was all over."

'Vince' returned the smile and offered his hand to pick 'Howard' up off the floor.

"I've got tears in my eyes," Naboo deadpanned, earning glares from his tenants. "Now who's going to clean up this mess?"

'Vince' and 'Howard' guiltily surveyed the damage done to the shop—the floor looked like it could have been a yarn ocean, complete with a school of herring navigating its waters. Ironically, one of the several smashed knick knacks that had fallen onto the floor was a small china tugboat.

"Bollo?" 'Vince' guessed hopefully. Naboo threw two brooms to them.

"Get to it."

'Howard' sighed.

..

..

..

_**On the next installment of The Switch:**_

_.._

_- Howard and Vince make headlines__  
- Howard and Vince are silent and manly__  
- Howard's shirt comes off in a hurry (you'll see)  
- Naboo revisits his crystal ball and the Howard-mocking ensues_

..

_**Stay tuned!**_


	6. Howard and Vince Are Safe and Sound

**The Switch**

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_**Chapter Six: Howard and Vince Are Safe and Sound**_

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It was a lazy Friday at the Nabootique. Howard Moon sat peacefully at the counter of the store, quietly marking down stock on a small pad of paper with a pleased smile nudging at the corners of his mouth. The shop was quiet, but also orderly and clean. Out of the corner of his eye, Howard noticed a pencil on the counter that was slightly out of place—he straightened it with a crisp motion and regarded his handiwork with satisfaction.

The shop's bell jingled cheerily.

"Afternoon," he noted to his coworker as Vince strode in wearing one of his usual elaborate outfits. The raven-haired young man flashed Howard a dazzling smile.

"Morning," he corrected cheekily. As he walked up to the counter, he passed a large clock that clearly displayed the time—2:00 P.M.

"Got the paper for you."

Vince threw down that day's newspaper, and Howard picked it up, flipping to the editorial section to read the small heading: "Sugarballs McGinty's Switch from Jazz Funk to Jazz Funk Fusion Remains Unremarked Upon."

Howard gave a small growl in frustration and threw the paper aside, only to be startled by a large pair of bright blue eyes.

"Sorry about the jazz letters. But no lasting damage from all the other bits, yeah?" Vince asked with a touch of concern.

"I'm fine, do you mind?" Howard retorted, jerking away as Vince leaned in to scrutinize his face. Vince laughed a little and backed off.

"I'll take your word on it, then."

Howard turned his attention to the rest of the paper, but snuck a glance up at Vince as his friend plopped down into his favorite chair.

"And you? Everything in working order?" he asked, carefully crafting his question to seem the proper amount of unconcerned.

"I sorted it out," Vince replied casually, flipping through a magazine but finding nothing particularly appealing to him.

"Mm," Howard acknowledged. They sat in silence for a long moment, Howard forcing himself to focus on the stock list and Vince flipping through his magazine without ever stopping on an article. Eventually Vince sighed and tossed the thing aside, slouching in the chair. Howard glanced up at him, but neither spoke to the other.

"That potion work all right for you two?" Naboo asked, coming downstairs into the shop with Bollo following close behind.

"Like a charm—thanks, Naboo," the two shopkeepers replied simultaneously. Naboo arched one slender eyebrow.

"So, instead of having your bodies switched, you've gone and consolidated your personalities into one, and fit them into two bodies? That's hardly ideal."

"Very funny," they responded. Each stared at the other for a long, suspicious moment.

"Squid butcher," they suddenly declared in tandem.

"Fascinating," Naboo drawled, not seeming very fascinated at all.

"Howard foul things up while he was in there?" Bollo asked of Vince, voice promising retribution to the offending party. "Any stains on the upholstery, if you know what Bollo mean?"

Vince glanced briefly at Howard before addressing the concerned ape. "It wasn't as bad as all that. And… no, I really don't know what you mean. I'm having a bit of trouble coming up with even one possible interpretation, actually."

"Does anyone care whether I've got Vince stains on _my_ upholstery?" Howard piped up loudly. Vince, Naboo, and Bollo all fixed Howard with looks of unsettled disgust.

"That's not… quite what I meant," the taller man murmured, embarrassed.

"You're a freak," Vince asserted, but quickly changed tactics. "But out of curiosity, you've always had that birthmark on your elbow, right?"

"Birthmark? What birthmark?"

Howard stood frozen in alarm for a beat, then grabbed at his shirtsleeve frantically, trying to yank his arm out of his shirt as if there were a bee inside.

The other three ignored him as he thrashed about, trying in vain to get his elbow free from his sleeve.

"So, are we all right, then, Naboo?" Vince asked the shaman. "You seemed a bit pessimistic about our odds the other night."

In the background, Howard flailed helplessly with his arm shoved through the collar of his shirt, trying to get a good look at his elbow.

"You should be fine," Naboo admitted. From behind the counter a small crash resounded. "Just stop using my magic potions, yeah? They're not toys."

Vince shrugged, looking a bit guilty. "In my defense, you did put that stuff right under the counter of the shop."

Naboo nodded understandingly. "We'll both make an effort, then."

There was a loud thud as Howard hit the floor. "You're a good kid, Vince," Naboo admitted fondly. "I know you're only naturally curious."

Vince smiled bashfully. "Thanks, Naboo."

"It was only a chocolate smudge!" Howard yelled angrily from the floor behind the counter. Bollo shook his head in contempt.

Howard popped back up, shirt now on backwards and hair a little ruffled. "So, our futures are all sorted out, then?"

Naboo's eyes widened slightly in realization. "Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Let me check."

Naboo headed off to fetch his crystal ball while Bollo wandered over to the coat rack to snatch a cowboy hat, heading instead for the door.

"Where're _you_ off to, Bollo?" Vince asked. Bollo didn't even look at him as he arranged the hat on his giant head until he seemed satisfied with its placement.

"Out," he grunted.

"Well, when will you be back?" Howard inquired, a little suspiciously. Bollo stopped at the doorway to cast Howard a glare.

"You not Bollo's mom."

Howard frowned, taken aback by the ape's rudeness, but at that moment Naboo finished setting up his crystal seeing ball on the counter of the shop.

"Gather round," he intoned calmly, waving his small hands over the surface of the magical artifact.

At the small shaman's urging, the image of Howard as an old man swirled back into form. As the three friends watched, future-Howard reached into his jacket to procure a handkerchief and sneezed violently into it, causing his rocking chair to swing backwards. He sniffed piteously, watery eyes sad amongst a forest of wrinkles, and folded his frail hands back into his blanket-covered lap.

"Seems stable enough," Naboo ascertained, and Howard let out a sigh of relief. Vince clapped him on the back encouragingly.

"See, Howard—in thirty or forty years you'll still be alive and kickin'. You look quite vibrant, actually."

He really didn't. But just then, another figure strode into the crystal ball's image. Vince Noir, strutting happily in a pair of knee-high red platforms, greeted the wizened Howard with a wave and a grin. In his other hand, he casually tossed a yo-yo.

"What?" Howard exclaimed in outrage as future-Howard observed future-Vince describing something to him animatedly. "Is this a joke? He doesn't look like he's aged a day!"

"He looks a bit younger, to be frank," Naboo observed as future-Vince slapped his knee in mirth at some part of the story he was telling. Future-Howard attempted a smile that inevitably led to a coughing fit, revealing a mouth full of yellowed, rotten teeth.

"Are you saying that in thirty years he's going to look exactly the same as he does now, with me all wrinkled and lame?" Howard bristled angrily. Naboo blinked as he regarded the scene in his crystal ball.

"Actually, this is only about three years into the future," he corrected, voice mild. Howard stared, seething in rage Vince tried to hide the way his shoulders were shaking in laughter.

Inside the crystal ball, future-Howard's head suddenly fell back, and he sat completely motionless with his eyes closed and mouth agape. Future-Vince stopped his story, concerned, crouching down to wave his hands in front of future-Howard's face, then shaking the elderly man lightly in distress.

"Have I just _died?_" Howard all but shouted, furious and horrified.

Naboo didn't seem quite as bothered, and shrugged. "It looks more like you're taking a little nap."

"Unbelievable!" Howard fumed as future-Vince looked around furtively before stealing some hard candy from future-Howard's breast pocket. Cheerfully unwrapping his prize, he entered the shop, abandoning the snoring future-Howard. Naboo took his hands away from the crystal ball and the image faded away.

"I_ have_ tried to warn you about your attitude, you know," Vince offered, attempting to be helpful but still failing to hide his laughter.

"Don't talk to me," Howard muttered hatefully, leaning against a cabinet and sullenly crossing his arms.

"See, that's what I'm talking about! You're quite wound up, you know. High strung."

"I mean it. Shut your mouth for the rest of forever."

Vince smirked, and even Naboo couldn't help but crack a smile.

Howard glared moodily into the distance.

"Ridiculous."

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_**The End—mostly. Read the next chapter for a bonus, "as the credits roll" type scene—although if you like to end things with a healthy dose of Howard mockery, it'd do you well to stop while you're ahead. Beyond here only cuteness and friendship awaits.**_

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_**Thanks for reading, especially to those who took the time to write to me**__**—**__**you guys seriously made my day(s). I worked hard to make this as Booshy and brilliant as possible, so hit me up with a review if I at least managed to make you smile!  
**_


	7. BONUS: Howard and Vince Roll Credits

**The Switch**

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_**Bonus Chapter: Howard and Vince Roll Credits**_

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_**Note: I realize this is a bit long for credits—just pretend that an unusually large amount of people worked on this "episode."  
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It was a Friday night, and all the regular clubs were caught in a tipsy whirlwind of deafening music and sweat-misted bodies in clothes like onion skins. It was exactly Vince Noir's kind of scene: gaggles of breezy, lost souls with perfect teeth and hair that looked like it was arranged by someone with a degree in civil engineering—all grinding and laughing together, bodies empty vessels for the thundering bass.

Vince tended to flock to such places to escape, to put himself on display in some immaculate costume, to dance and feel absolutely nothing for the teeming mass of people besides wanting them to form the ocean of music and movement for him to stay abreast of. He went when he wanted to look beautiful, drink, and surround himself with admirers and girls with pretty laughs and tasty lip gloss.

But not that night.

Alone in their bedroom, Howard and Vince looked as if they were cast adrift in an ocean of a different sort—bright puzzle pieces of every shade and shape were strewn across the floor around their bodies almost as far as the eye could see. Howard sat cross-legged in his shorts, sorting and poring over heaps of what looked like colorful cardboard confetti, placing pieces he'd already examined into carefully constructed piles.

Vince lay on his stomach beside Howard in a plain t-shirt, propped up on his elbows and swinging his legs behind him. He happily grabbed at pieces to inspect and discard leisurely, often tossing them into one of Howard's meticulously sorted piles. With more than a little satisfaction, he snapped one piece together with another, bringing the count of puzzle pieces that were in any way conjoined to… two.

"This is fun, isn't it, Howard?" he ventured, cheerful in a simple sort of way. He scratched at the back of his head with one hand before grabbing his two connected pieces to mime them flying through the air.

Howard frowned. "Can you pass me the top of the box, please?"

Vince had rolled over onto his back, hair forming a jet black silhouette around his head, to continue playing with his puzzle pieces. He was too busy making fighter plane and gun noises to hear Howard.

"Vince," Howard repeated, forcing patience into his tone.

"Reeee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee… Oh god, me toenails!"

Howard rolled his eyes and leaned over Vince to grab at the puzzle box's lid. Vince squirmed a little underneath him before the taller man managed to straighten with his prize firmly in his grasp.

"Watch it!" Vince protested, annoyed.

Howard ignored him. His beady eyes flickered back and forth in quick volleys over the picture displayed on the lid, brow furrowed in concentration.

"I don't understand this," he muttered.

"It's a puzzle," Vince explained tartly, still sounding a little irritated from being reached over. "You put the little pieces together and they make the picture on the box."

"I know how a puzzle works, okay?" Howard snapped. But with a short exhale his anger at Vince retreated, to be replaced with perplexity. "It just doesn't add up."

Vince froze for a brief moment, guiltily looking the other way. "The point isn't to add things up," he attempted, sitting back up and casually flicking his conjoined puzzle pieces back into the fray. "Just go for it, you know? Pieces will just find each other."

He smiled thoughtfully, drawing his knees up to his chin and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he idly sifted through the thick covering of puzzle pieces on the floor. "It's sort of more romantic that way, don't you think?"

"It's not romantic. It's a puzzle," Howard said flatly. He carefully turned a single colorful piece between his fingers. "It's a test of calculation and logic—an equation to be solved. Besides, that's not even how romance works in any case. People are a bit more complex than bits of colored cardboard. Things don't always just snap into place."

Vince flopped back down onto his back, puzzle pieces clacking as they flew out from under him as he landed. He looked up at Howard from the floor in front of him, blue eyes bright, as he held a single puzzle piece out to the jazz maverick.

Howard glanced down, raising one eyebrow in mild interest, and took the piece from him. He held it up to the piece he was currently examining—even from far away it was easy to see that the two pieces weren't a match. Howard shook his head, chuckling a little.

"Luck comes easily to you. I'll give you that. But did you honestly think that would work?"

"This one, then," Vince offered softly, his optimistic smile untouched. Howard rolled his eyes and held his puzzle piece out to Vince on his palm. Vince pressed his offering down into the taller man's hand.

It fit.

Howard stared at the matched pair, dumbfounded. He then switched his gaze to Vince, who was looking up at him, his face shining with laughter. For all his annoyance at being proven wrong, Howard couldn't seem to begrudge his friend his happy triumph at this small wonder.

Howard stared for another moment at the puzzle pieces, trying to formulate a response. He tried to narrow his eyes suspiciously at the beaming man lying on the floor, but he couldn't help letting a little laughter sneak into his question.

"…Are you a leprechaun?"

And Vince laughed too.

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_**The End! : )**_


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